


Dream a Little Dream of Me

by Pteropoda (SilentP)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Other, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentP/pseuds/Pteropoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hound’s optics were still dimmed, but Mirage caught the sound of fans whining under the usual hum of his frame. Then Hound twitched again, and made a small, breathy moan. </p><p>Oh. <i>Oh.</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Graveyard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graveyard/gifts).



> Graveyard posted a series of daydreams/prompts involving some Hound/Mirage, and I couldn't get the idea out of my head. Any excuse to write my favorite pairing, right?

When Mirage came online in the middle of the night cycle, it was with a jolt that sent him reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. He held still, scanning the room with all of his senses. Small and spartan, did not take long to examine, but it was only when he was certain that nothing was out of place that Mirage relaxed back against the berth.

Beside him, he could hear the faint hum of Hound’s systems, apparently undisturbed by Mirage’s own movements. As he listened, Mirage heard the faint hiss of hydraulics as Hound shifted in place. No doubt that was what had woken him, Mirage thought, listening to the soothingly familiar sound. Hound slept quietly but not silently, and this was not the first time Mirage had been unintentionally woken by his partner.

The first time it had happened Mirage had been so startled that he’d shaken Hound awake. “It just happens sometimes,” Hound told him later. “I knew a couple of prewar scout frames it happened to. Usually it’s just from some memory feedback. It’s been a while since I just shared a berth, I didn’t even think about it.”

Hound had apologized, but Mirage found he could only shrug it off. Eventually, he knew he would become used to the sounds, though as light a recharger as he was, he might never stop coming online because of them. He found the quiet murmuring and shifting endearing, though he didn’t tell Hound that.

For tonight, there was nothing to do but settle down again. Mirage was already powering back down when Hound cried out behind him.

“Hound?” Mirage called softly, turning toward his lover. That cry had sounded distressed, even to his sleepy processor.

At first glance, he could find nothing wrong. Hound’s optics were still dimmed, but Mirage caught the sound of fans whining under the usual hum of his frame. Then Hound twitched again, and made a small, breathy moan.

Oh. _Oh._

That sound was familiar. Not too long ago, Mirage had been doing his best to draw it out of Hound by licking his way up his spike.

Mirage snatched back the servo he had held poised over Hound’s pauldron. If this was the kind of memory playback it sounded like, it would surely be best to let it run through on its own and ignore it. Waking up Hound in the midst of that… well, Hound probably wouldn’t even remember what the memory had been when he woke up. Surely it wouldn’t last long, Mirage reasoned. A few minutes more and Hound would fall silent again, and he could go back to recharging and forget about the entire thing. A few minutes ignoring Hound’s moans was easy enough to deal with compared to explaining just why Mirage had woken him up in the middle of the night. Determined, Mirage laid down and shut his optics off.

Only, Hound did not quiet. Mirage could hear the slightest shifting of Hound’s frame, the hitch of his vents, and each little sound seemed to burn itself into his processor. Recharge seemed an impossible goal now. He had resorted to lying still, doing his best not to let Hound’s whimpers drag up memories of other occasions when Hound had been just as vocal.

 _That_ wasn’t going particularly well either. Every time he turned off his optics, his processor pulled up images of just how he usually got Hound to moaning, so instead he stared at the floor, tracing the scuff marks left behind by careless pedes. By the end of the night, he feared he still wouldn’t be able to recall a single detail.

Nothing could have kept him from hearing the soft click of a panel sliding open. He was turning before he could stop himself.

Hound’s bared spike was slowly beginning to extend, lying along the dip of his pelvic armor, and below it, Mirage could just glimpse the entrance to his valve, similarly uncovered. As if sensing Mirage’s optics, Hound arched with a quiet cry. If he were awake, Mirage would have thought him begging to be touched.

Heat crawled through him. Hound wasn’t begging, Mirage reprimanded himself. Whatever memory his processor was playing through was obviously an intimate one, but that didn’t give Mirage any reason to lose his processor over an unintentional display, and it certainly wasn’t reason to grope him without an ounce of self-control.

The thought did nothing to stop Mirage’s arousal. Now that he’d looked, he could not seem to stop himself. The sound of Hound’s fans echoed in his audials, but it was his frame that held Mirage’s attention now. His hips were twitching restlessly, and his spike, fully extended now, was impossible not to notice.

Despite his constant shifting, Hound was no closer to waking than he’d been before. His optics were dim, and they didn’t so much as flicker as Mirage watched. But the rest of him was not so still. As Mirage watched, Hound squirmed again, his faceplates twisted with an unmistakable look of pleasure.

Behind his panels, Mirage’s interface equipment tingled. The ache he’d managed to ignore until now flared into a heavy throb, and he could feel the lubricant beginning to well up. He pressed his servos to his thighs, rubbing at the warming metal in an attempt to distract himself from the slowly growing tension. His fans came on with a rush of air.

Staring at Hound’s spike certainly wasn’t going to help him cool down, but turning away took more strength than he had, and Hound was _still_ crying out in pleasure.

Mirage’s hips rocked in agonized sympathy, and his servos pressed into his thighs along the seam where they met his pelvic plating in a desperate bid not to touch—though whether it was Hound or himself he wanted to put his servos, he was no longer certain. He found himself biting his lipplates to keep from making a sound in turn.

With a strangled whimper, Mirage staggered away from the berth on pedes that felt abruptly weak. This was ridiculous. He was a trained spy, and over the course of the war there was very little he hadn’t been stuck watching to keep from blowing his cover. Watching Hound dream was tame by comparison, especially when they shared so much more than that so often. There was no reason for him to feel so heated up from just from _watching_ , yet he didn’t think he could stand to look without doing anything for a moment longer.

He slumped against the edge of the berth, resting his helm against his raised knees, venting deeply to try and cool his systems. Here, at the foot of the berth, Hound’s noises weren’t inaudible, but the distance helped. As long as he focused on cycling air through his systems, he could keep himself under control until Hound finally stopped dreaming. He could.

His grip on his plating was nearly hard enough to dent. Intake by intake, Mirage focused on relaxing his servos, and ignoring the burning of his panel. As intent as he was on regulating his frame, the sound of his designation caught him completely by surprise.

“Mirage?”

He flinched. When he lifted his optics, Hound was staring at him, confusion written across his faceplates. There was a hint of worry in his voice, even rough as it was with Hound still booting up.

“Mirage?” Hound repeated, beginning to push up off the berth. “Something wrong?”

Mirage could imagine how it looked to Hound, waking up alone only to find Mirage curled up on the floor, lacking any composure. Had he been in that position, he would be concerned, and rightly so. He ought to be letting Hound know that there was nothing to worry about, not hiding a shiver at Hound’s voice, still rough with sleep. He certainly shouldn’t be caught up on the way Hound’s panel lay open, or the way the angle he was at allowed Mirage to see his still-wet valve.

He had to force his optics away, down to his servos folded tightly in his lap. “It’s nothing, Hound,” he said, and at least his vocalizer didn’t waver. “Give me a moment.”

He should have known better, with Hound. He heard his lover shifting around on the berth, and moments later, there was a gentle touch to his pauldron.

“You’re running hot,” Hound said gently, sounding surprised—as though his own fans weren’t running just as high as Mirage’s, damn him. Mirage could feel the heat radiating off of him, and it was that of all things that finally broke his self-control.

With a sharp tug on Hound’s helm, he pulled the other mech into a hard kiss. Hound made a surprised sound into his mouth, but then he was kissing back just as hard, and this time Mirage was the one who moaned.

Through some combination of Mirage pushing Hound back and Hound tugging him along the two of them ended up twined together on the berth, still kissing. Mirage couldn’t say exactly when his panel had opened, but Hound was grinding against his exposed spike with a desperate little whine, and nothing in the universe could have convinced him to close it again.

A touch to his spike made his entire frame jolt, and he groaned into Hound’s neck as the other mech pumped his spike. It took him a few moments to realize that Hound was trying to lead him to his valve, but when he did, he pulled his own servos between their frames and dragged his fingers through the mess of lubricant beginning to seep out of Hound’s valve.

Hound groaned, deep and drawn out, and it was the last encouragement Mirage needed. He pulled away only long enough to line up his spike, then pushed forward. Underneath him, Hound pressed upward, drawing gasps from the both of them as Mirage’s spike slid deep. Mirage stilled to savor the feeling. Hound’s fingers were digging into his plating, pulling him closer, as close as Hound’s boxy frame would allow. It would force him to keep his thrusts shallow, but Hound urged him on with pleading whispers, and he could not find it in him to mind.

“Mirage. Mirage, please!” Hound gasped, and Mirage thought he was babbling back, but it didn’t matter, not when Hound was clenching around the slide of his spike, and following his every movement.

It was only a few more thrusts before Hound went all over tense and arched up, grinding against him with sharp movements. The clench and release of Hound’s valve around him sent him shuddering into overload in turn with such force he saw sparks.

His fans were screaming. Hound, all but pinned beneath his chassis, was no better off, but his grip was still firm. Moving out of that hold would be more energy than it was worth. Instead, he tucked his helm down alongside Hound’s and let himself drift.

Underneath him, Hound finally stirred, nosing against his cheek then pressing a soft kiss to it when Mirage nuzzled back.

“So, not that I’m protesting,” he murmured, “But what was that about?”

After the torture of trying to ignore his heated systems, the question was was, somehow, entirely too funny, and Mirage had press his faceplates to a bemused Hound’s neck to suppress an entirely inappropriate fit of giggles.


End file.
